


Red

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bullying, How Do I Tag, Multi, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock and Irene are friends, Sherlock is flamboyant, Sherlock is in the girls bathroom, Sherlock wears girls clothes, Teenlock, aulock, i promise it's not weird, pre-John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6949513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clothes shouldn't have labels. That's how he saw it. If he wanted to walk around in a short skirt, while still maintaining his masculine formality, he would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The descriptions aren't too bad, but I went ahead and put the warning just in case

He winced, the pain of a clenched fist meeting contact with his face shooting through his entire body. There was an audible cracking sound, most likely his nasal bones breaking in several places, and he coughed, sending a tooth and droplets of blood flying.

But he rufused to fall down.

Sherlock Holmes clutched at his face with his hand, squinting at his attacker with the one eye that he could still see out of. He was met with a toothy grin.

“Don't you know how to hit back? Or do you not want to ruin that clean skirt, freak!”

Another punch, this time to the stomach, and Sherlock was seeing stars. He quickly grabbed his abdomen and didn't have time to duck as Sebastian sent another fist flying at his jaw. His teeth clenched down on his tongue, breaking the thick skin and filling his mouth with blood. All he could taste was copper. Over to the side a poisonous laughter filled his ears, and Jim Moriarty watched the show with much interest.

“Now, now, Sebby. We must give him some credit. He's got very good sense in fashion choices.”

Expensive black shoes clicked against the linoleum floor, and a harsh hand clutched Sherlock's brusied face. The teen spit blood onto the floor, barely missing the shoes. Jim only smirked, throwing Sherlock's face away and standing up straight. 

“Come on, we've got biology homework. Mr. Wiggins will have our heads if we don't finish it.”

Sebastian nodded in agreement, kicking Sherlock one last time before the two stalked off cackling. Sherlock groaned involuntarily and caved in. He heaved all over the floor, the contents of his morning breakfast painting the white with greens and oranges. He tried to stand up, use the water fountain as a sort of leverage, but only slipped on his own bile and fell face first into the sticky substance.

A bit not good.

Tears streamed down his cheeks and he felt like he was going to throw up again. Why had he thought this was a good idea? He knew of the consequences. It didn't matter how many people stood by his side. There would always be those who judged.

The truth of the matter was, Sherlock enjoyed wearing female clothing. And he honestly didn't see anything wrong with that. Clothes shouldn't have labels. That's how he saw it. If he wanted to walk around in a short skirt, while still maintaining his masculine formality, he would. It was okay for girls to wear their boyfriends hoodies, but the minute he borrowed one of his friends exposing crop tops, it was as if the whole world was judging him. His parents approved. Mycrofy approved. His friends approved. Why should he care about the opinions of anyone else?

Slowly Sherlock pulled himself out of his mess and maintained a position leaning against the wall. He should be home right now, talking to Molly on the phone about Victoria Secrets outrageous lingerie prices. Instead, he sat in the bloody school with his face covered in vomit and tears, hands too shaky to dial any fucking number. The world really was a cruel place.

* * *

It felt like hours before Sherlock was able to muster up some strength and call Irene. When she picked up, her voice was its usual attractive demeanor, before dropping into one of timidness and worry when Sherlock let out a weak, “Irene..”

_“Sherl? Is everything okay? Molly's here, do you want me to put you on speaker?”_

“Please...”

_“Sherlock, oh my God! Are you okay, we've been trying to call you for hours! Your brother said you didn't make it home-”_

“I'm...at the school, could you just...come and get me. Please.”

Irene's voice took over.  _“Alright, we'll be there soon!”_ She hung up, and Sherlock's arm slumped down next to him, his eyes glistening from the tears.

Worst day ever.

It only took Irene and Molly fifteen minutes to get to the school, as Sherlock could hear two sets of footsteps desperately searching for him. Then he heard, “Irene, I found him!” and the girls he called friends were immediately by his side.

“Jesus fuck, Sherl, what the hell happened?” Irene put a gentle hand to his cheek and quickly pulled her handkerchief from her purse. All the while Molly examined his abused face worridely.

“I got...beat up.” His voice was weak and cracked, mostly from choking on his own blood. The girls exchanged fragile glances and Molly wet her thumb, wiping a trail of crimson from Sherlock's mouth.

“Who did this to you?”

He didn't want to say. Sherlock turned away, completely ignoring the question, and studied the suddenly interesting lockers behind them. Irene groaned in agitation and took Sherlock's face in her small hands, looking him straight in the eye. “Don't go soft on us, Sherlock Holmes. Who did this?”

Sherlock hesitated, and bit his lip. Grey-blue eyes darted back and forth between either girls and finally he sighed in defeat. “It was Sebastian and Jim. They cornered me by my locker and started calling me names, as if that would have any effect on me. Then I gave a simple deduction that Seb didn't like too well,” he clutched either girls hands as they carefully guided him back onto his legs. “Which is why I now look like a Ken doll that's been thrown into a blender.”

Irene couldn't help herself. She laughed, clutching onto Sherlock's left shoulder and helping Molly guide him away from the scene of the crime. “And what exactly was that deduction, I wonder?”

Sherlock smirked. “That he and Jim were sleeping together.”

They all broke down laughing, Molly having to readjust herself as to not let Sherlock fall. They didn't stop until they were in Irene's convertible, and she more than happily drove Sherlock home.

 

That was two years ago. Twenty four months and a few more 'unfortunate accidents' later, and Sherlock Holmes could confidently walk out of his house with spandex, booty shorts, and a tied up plaid shirt on and not give a single damn what people thought. Yes, he was still taunted. He knew that was never going to stop. But a majority of the student body stood behind him, if only to watch him walk away, and Sherlock didn't have to worry about being beaten up because the rugby team had his back. Big brother Mycroft had even threatened to get involved and keep an eye on him by roaming the school during his office hours. But Sherlock knew it would just be so he could see his boyfriend. Graham? Griffon? George? Sherlock just called him Lestrade.

It was his last year of high school, and he was going to shine. He sat in the girls bathroom early in the morning with Molly Hooper and Irene Adler. Over the two years, the girls had formed a bond much closer than friendship. Eventually Molly got the courage to ask Irene out. That was five months, two weeks, three days, and six hours ago. Sherlock was happy someone could find love. Four years of high school and he had yet to get laid. Mummy always told him there was no need to rush if he wasn't in a hurry. Daddy had no choice but to agree.

Molly uncapped a strawberry flavored lip balm and grabbed Sherlock gently.

“Here you go. This one's my favorite.”

Sherlock puckered his lips and let Molly glide the makeup across his cupid bow, smiling when she was finished and smacking his lips together. 

“Have you seen that new guy?” Irene asked. She was applying a fresh coat of the essentials, and looked over to them after fixing her mascara. “He's your type, Sherly. Blond, built, and just the right amount of handsome.”

Sherlock scoffed and jumped off the sink. “Yeah, I'll believe you when I see him.”

And he had.

He really needed to learn to trust Irene more.

The new guy was...stunning. But he didn't want to seem desperate, so he tried to act as cooly as possible, and when he waved John goodbye and went back to his seat, he knew there was no way that would happen.

 


End file.
